Ilene on Her

Posted on September 9, 2015 by Shelley Goldbeck

Ilene Goldbeck
In her 20’s

My mother’s 75th birthday was in August. And like most farm wives she has made her share of sacrifices to keep the farm going. I hope you’ll enjoy this little tribute. Here’s to you, Mom

Ilene on Her

Ilene is my mother’s name and after decades it has occurred to me

Just how appropriate her name is when I think about our family.

She has quietly supported Dad since she was only seventeen

And his life and ours just wouldn’t be the same without Ilene.

When she married she was 90 pounds soaking wet

But wiry and strong; you ain’t seen nothing yet!

She’s not much bigger now but she can still toss

Forty or fifty bales that weigh nearly as much as she does.

Ilene on her, my partner, my wife. Ilene on her to get me through life.

Ilene on her each and every day. Ilene on her; there’s no other way.

A penny was never stretched like a penny in the hands of Mom.

As little as came through her hands, she always saved some.

And just when times are extra tough and no solution is in sight

My mom reveals her secret stash and saves the farm from its plight.

For many years she had a full-time job in town at the bank.

That regular paycheque ensured their small farm never sank.

Chores to do before she left and more when she came home

Never seemed to faze her, even when she did them all alone.

Ilene on her, my partner, my wife. Ilene on her to get me through life.

Ilene on her each and every day. Ilene on her; there’s no other way.

Her garden and her chickens helped keep the wolf from the door.

She’s worked beside Dad and not desired much more

Than being his partner, with a horse or two in the yard.

I challenge you to find a woman half her age who can work half as hard.

She keeps her health in check; she doesn’t need to take pills

But she faithfully ensures Dad takes his to ward off all his ills.

She silently consents when he conjures brand new schemes

And participates completely in the fulfillment of their dreams.

She has seen her share of sorrows but she always wears a smile

Despite the trials and burdens of walking with Dad along the miles.

She would say her life’s been happy though she’s never had much nice stuff.

Having horses in common with Dad, to her, has always been enough.

Ilene on her, my partner, my wife. Ilene on her to get me through life.

Ilene on her each and every day. Ilene on her; there’s no other way.

Performed at 30th Annual Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Lewistown, MT 2015

Am I a Good Mother?

Posted on May 9, 2015 by Shelley Goldbeck

FIve generations of strong women. 2004. www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

In response to an invitation to write something for a Mother’s Day contest, I wrote this piece. It had to be 325 words or fewer; mine is 324!

Sometimes we mothers wonder, “Am I a good mother?”

I recently realized my grown daughters are messy. Their shoes and clothes are strewn about their house. There always seem to be dirty dishes on the counter. Their laundry is rarely all done and put away.

Bemoaning their habits, I declared I had failed as a mother. A good friend asked me if my adult children’s neatness is a true measure of my parental success.

(Pause) No.

THIS is how I gauge my success as a parent: my children are decent human beings.

They share their meager wealth with their friends and family. Generous.

I once was walking with my then late-teen daughter when the elderly woman in front of us tripped and fell to the ground. My daughter sprang into action, lifting the woman, brushing off her clothes and gathering her spilled groceries in the blink of an eye. “What if that were Grandma?” she replied when I commented. Decent.

This spring one daughter’s friend longed to visit her dying mother one last time but couldn’t afford the flights to Ontario. My other daughter had a pass for two flights and gave them to her sister’s friend. Compassionate.

I once regretted that my daughters came from a broken home. About 15 years ago they told me that they didn’t consider themselves from a broken home but from a happy home. Loving.

The mother of my Grandtoys often foregoes housework to ride bikes, play games or sing and dance with her girls. Priorities!

I love my wise, beautiful daughters. Being their mom has been, bar none, my greatest life experience, my most significant life purpose and my most satisfying accomplishment.

When their father became ill over 30 years ago, I knew my only job was to prepare my children for adulthood, in case they lost me too.

It wasn’t easy but I did my job.

My daughters are decent human beings.

I am a good mother.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our mothers.

100 Books in 2014

Posted on September 9, 2014 by Shelley Goldbeck

My book club read the book Philomena, by Martin Sixsmith and we met to discuss this week. The book is purported to be about a mother’s search for her adopted son. But the majority of the book is about her son trying to find himself and his birth mother. It should be called Anthony. We chatted about the themes in the book. The consensus was lukewarm.

For me, the book is monumental, not for itself but that it’s the 100^th book I’ve read this year. That seems like a mountain of books, but honestly, since beginning my reading mission in 2007, this has been the easiest year to meet my goals.

(If your eyes glaze over when you see numbers, skip the next two paragraphs).

In 2007 and for the next two years, I read a book a week. Partway through 2010, I realized I was reading two books per week so that became my new goal for 2010 to 2013. At the start of 2014, I had read 579 books since 2007. With a bit more effort I knew I could get to 700 in 2014.

Then I decided, why not strive for 1000 books in ten years? That meant I had to read 421 books in three years, 140 books per year. The hundredth book puts me at 679 so far. 321 books with 28 months to go: 2.5 books per week. Let’s call it three.

It may seem obsessive, but it’s quite exhilarating to be accumulating knowledge on a wide variety of topics, including health, business, politics, marketing, speaking, writing, spirituality, food, gardening, real estate, self-help, history, various other non-fiction, poetry, and even a few novels.

People are shocked to learn of my reading habits. It has become such an integral part of me, I’m not as impressed as I once was. Here are my tips for those who desire to read more.

Make reading a priority. We all waste time every day. If you truly love to read you will find some wasted time. And read!

Carry a book. I always have one in my purse because I realized much of my wasted time is waiting…in line at banks and supermarkets, at appointments, even at restaurants and coffee shops when clients are late. (I sometimes purposely get there really early so I can read a few chapters!) I read about two “purse” books each month.

I also have partly read books throughout my house: one where I sit in the living room, one on my nightstand, sometimes, one in the kitchen. I rarely read two novels simultaneously. The last time I tried, one book had a man who had lost a daughter and the other had a woman who had lost a son; I had a hard time staying on track: which book am I reading?

Trade TV watching for reading. The average North American watches 35 hours of TV each week, a full-time job! Watch one less hour of TV each day and devote that time to reading. At one hour a day, everybody can read one or two books a month. Soon your books will call you away from most TV.

Schedule reading times. My husband likes to sleep in on weekends. I usually can’t sleep past eight. So I read for two hours, keeping the house quiet for my sleepyhead husband. I often read a novel on a Sunday afternoon. On vacations, I plan to read a book each day. Airports are a great place to read books since so much waiting is required. And a four hour flight whizzes by when a mystery is unfolding in your hands. I can usually read a book before I get there and one to get home.

I appreciate e-books when I travel. Before I go, I load up my iPad with books. I always bring a couple real books because airlines won’t let me use electronics on take-off and landing which can last many “chapters”. Sometimes I take books with me I don’t expect to want to keep so can I leave them behind in public places, surprises for strangers.

I naturally read more in winter as I’m not distracted by my garden, golfing and summer socializing! I guess that’s one good thing about living in Calgary: long winters for reading. (As I write this on September 8, it is snowing!)

Start with one book. Many despair that they could ever read three books a week! Start with one a month. Then two. You will become a faster reader. That’s what happened to me. I got faster so now I can read more. I can read 100 pages per hour unless the font is miniscule or the language archaic.

I have no idea when this will stop. But I have a list of over 400 books to read, books recommended by somebody I respect, and there’s so much to explore at the library, I expect to keep reading. The number doesn’t really matter. It’s just fun to challenge myself and then reach those goals.

Keep a record. One of the best things I’ve done is to keep a spreadsheet record of my reading. I record the dates I read the book, the title, author, source, who referred it to me, and whether I’d read again, recommend, want in my library or am happy I read it. I also include a description or any quotes that grabbed me. Very valuable. I often forget whether I’ve read a particular book. I simply search my spreadsheet. Also when people ask me to recommend books, I can remind myself of my favourites and choose books I think will be appropriate.

Use your library! If I had bought every book new, I would have spent $20,000 so far! ($30 x 679 books). But I didn’t. I borrowed most books. Bought many used for $2 or less. Got some as gifts. And bought a few new, often at discount at Costco or as e-books. I estimate I’ve spent less than $700, including gift cards I’ve received, in nearly eight years, about $90/yr.

Join or start a book club: Your reading list will expand when others add to it. There is nothing more fun than discussing a great book with others who’ve just feasted on it too. My club has led me to read books I never would have thought to read. Some are among my all-time favourites.

One of the most important gifts you can give yourself is making time to read. Your knowledge will begin to expand immediately. Your vocabulary will grow: I’ve calculated I learn about 20 new words from every book I read. Reading strengthens your writing. I’m convinced I’ve improved.

One of my few regrets in life was not having a degree. One day I discovered a quote to the effect that everything is written down in books. If one can read, one can be educated. That made sense to me and I haven’t looked back.

Most people think I am educated in the traditional sense, often inquiring about my education history. I proudly tell them that my school is Life and my degree is self-directed and on-going. Then I tell them about the number of books I read and/or have read. It impresses. But it doesn’t matter to me. I do this for me, not to impress (unless someone is being elitist and snooty, then I might indulge in some chest beating).

I’m enjoying my book journey. Won’t you join me?

My Finishing Mom

Posted on April 15, 2014 by Shelley Goldbeck

Photo owned by www.shelleygoldbeck.com

I am blessed to have had three mothers. My first mother, of course, gave birth to me. My grandmother assisted in my rearing; I consider her my second mom.

Then there is my ‘finishing” mom.

I call her that because she finished the job of raising me. You see, I was 17 when I married her son and like most 17-year-olds, I thought I was pretty smart. In reality, I knew nothing.

Through her open heart, smiling face, undying service and unconditional love, she gave me many tools that have shaped my life.

We bury her today. This is my tribute to Mildred Olsen.

My grandma met Mildred through work. They became fast friends. Grandma started attending the church down the street and found the Olsens attended there.

That’s where I first met my third mom. I remember her incessant smile. I also remember sitting behind her and seeing her rearrange the sausage curl at the end of her hair.

I was 14 and had an immediate crush on her son. Three years later I became her daughter-in-law and she became my mother-in-law, a title she hated because of the negativity surrounding mothers-in-law and the ensuing jokes. She worked hard to dispel the stereotype and she achieved that.

Photo owned by www.shelleygoldbeck.com

She always treated me as though I were one of her children. My Christmas and birthday gifts were as generous my sisters-in-law’s gifts. She both praised and scolded me (gently) as if she were my own parent. I never resented it. In fact, I loved the feeling of family she instilled in me.

I imagine she was taken aback by my ignorance of keeping a home. As the oldest in my family, I was expected to labour outside on the farm. The extent of my kitchen skills were peeling potatoes, setting the table and washing dishes.

She taught me how to cook. Not so much taught, but allowed me to observe and ask questions. I often helped her do her Christmas baking. I learned how important food presentation is. The tomatoes weren’t simply sliced, but neatly arranged on the plate. I still serve tomatoes this way.

Her apple pie was legendary. In fact, Pastor DeMaere told me she made the best apple pie he ever ate and he had been served thousands of slices of apple pie over the years. A roast beef dinner evokes sweet memories of her Sunday dinners.

Not only did I learn how to cook in her kitchen I learned hospitality. Mildred loved nothing more than having company. Out would come the coffee and squares or cakes. Her reward for serving her guests was their company. That suited me well. I am thankful I learned hostess etiquette at her side.

In her kitchen I also learned how to clean. Her kitchen gleamed. Everything was wiped down daily and because of that regularity it was easy to keep it up. I will never claim to be as meticulous as she was but I learned how nice it feels to work in a clean kitchen.

Her message was consistent: whatever you do, do it to the best of your ability. Go the extra mile. Make it look beautiful just because.

I used to marvel at her energy. She was the first one up and the last to bed, always working, always doing, usually for others.

When my babies came, she taught me how to care for them. She was their second mom and I always felt comfortable leaving my children in her care. I knew she loved them at least as much as I did. I am forever grateful that my children got to have all those comfortable memories of time spent at Grandma’s.

Photo owned by www.shelleygoldbeck.com

She was our moral barometer. When the girls were teens and trying out racy language, they would claim it wasn’t so bad. “Would you say it front of Grandma?” They would hang their heads, “No.” Settled. If we were ashamed to do it in front of Grandma it was likely shameful.

She and I used to talk for hours on the phone or play games Sunday afternoons when the men were napping off their big meal. Those conversations shaped my thinking. Mildred also influenced me by sharing her self-help library. To this day my reading includes self-help books, which most people find boring.

Mildred had class, quiet dignity. She genuinely cared about people. She was happy in her roles of wife, mother, grandmother and homemaker.

Luckily, I see Mildred in my girls. R____ has her darker skin and hair and voluptuous figure. She reveals her pain through her eyes, just like her grandma. She is also meticulous in everything she does. H____ shares her openness, loving spirit and her innate sense of morality. She thrives on company too. My girls both appreciate having known this wonderful woman and they acknowledge her profound influence in their lives.

As I compile this, the memories of her love flood my mind and it’s hard to choose which should be included. The most indelible one is this:

My grandma and Mildred were neighbours and friends for decades and forever connected through their descendents. In the last years they were in the same seniors lodge for a time.

My grandma began to deteriorate. At one point she was unable to walk to the dining room for lunch. The lodge wasn’t exactly accommodating.

One day my sister arrived at the lodge in time to see this: Grandma was perched on the seat of Mildred’s walker. Mildred, bad heart and bad hip notwithstanding, was pushing Grandma slowly towards the dining room.

This image of my finishing mom supporting my second mom, regardless of the hardship it might cause her, is the statement of how Mildred lived her life. It is how I will forever remember her.

In service to others in her own quiet way. With a smile and great love.

“There is no greater love than to give one’s life for a friend.”

Thank you, Mildred, for finishing me, for being my grandma’s longest friend and for helping me raise my daughters. I could not have walked this way without you.

My Baby Sister

Posted on April 8, 2014 by Shelley Goldbeck

April on Tinker, circa 1970 Photo owned by www.shelleygoldbeck.com

Today, my baby sister, April celebrates her 50^th birthday.

It’s hard to imagine her being 50. I wonder how my parents feel: their baby is 50!

What to get a 50-year-old woman who has a very happy life? She wants for nothing. She has family, friends, a nice home.

A party is out of the question. She hates being the centre of attention. She once threatened my life if I even thought of a surprise party like the one we threw for her husband’s 50^th birthday.

Finally inspiration. A Letter to the Living. A few years ago I wrote about the importance of telling people how you feel about them before their eulogy. I call them, “Letters to the Living.”

And I have never sent one to my sister. So here goes.

Dear April:

I remember the day you came to this planet. Mom announced to Dad that the baby was coming and our brother and I were shipped off to Grandma’s. I remember staying home with Dad a few days too. He fed us and cared for us but he didn’t wash one dish. I remember Mom facing a pile of dirty dishes when she got home with you.

Dad’s parents were immediately taken aback by your name, as no Germans are named April. Named after a month! How absurd! All discussions ceased when Mom reminded them of Great-Uncle August. I happen to think April is a pretty name.

You changed our family. Our parents were finally old enough to be parents and they showered you with love, as much as they were able. In fact, Grandpa exclaimed that at last he saw “Mutterliebe”, mother love in our mother when she brought you home.

Brother and I loved kissing your soft baby arms, cooing, “Chicken wings, chicken wings!” You would giggle and then pinch us so hard we would cry.

In typical sibling fashion your presence was barely tolerated at times. Other times, I was fiercely protective of you. I remember a friend of mine excluding you when I was eight and you were two. I insisted on your inclusion. She had no siblings. I concluded she didn’t understand love for a little sister.

Brother and I quickly figured out Mom and Dad had a soft spot for you. You became our ambassador, our negotiator. If we could convince you to ask them on our behalf, we reasoned, odds were in our favour of scoring.

Alas, you soon learned of the power you held and you often wielded it for your own good and against us. You adeptly extracted favours for your petitions to parents or you out and out refused us. I suspect you savoured your power over us.

You were ten when I left home. I have often regretted being wrapped up in my own life and not being a mentor or even a good big sister to you, especially as a teenager. Somehow you grew up and became someone that I have long considered a lifelong friend.

Sisters we may be but we are different in so many ways. I have always known that you were the most intelligent of our parents’ children, though I wouldn’t admit it when I was young. Of course I let on that I was the smartest, but deep down, I knew.

As an adult, I enjoy the intelligent conversations we have. I relish sharing books with you, knowing you have the capacity to understand them as I do. It’s not easy to find intellectual equals, but I have my sister.

There were times I was jealous of your relationship with Mom and Dad. Thankfully, I grew to value it. You did much to teach them how to love their children and to teach all of us how to have good relationships with our parents and children.

I remember a time when I doubted you would ever be a mother or much of one. How wrong was I?

One of my proudest thoughts has been of you tenderly rearing your children to be the fine citizens they are. I often boast about the accomplishments of my niece and nephew; we all know their mother was integral to their success. Thank you for having a son, whom I think of as a son. He holds a special place in our family of girls.

I am grateful for your thoughtfulness to my daughters and for being an example and mentor for them. They regard you highly, and they recognize the impact you’ve had on their life choices.

I admire how you handled being a stepmother and a grandmother at a really young age. I witnessed that you were always fair and loving towards your stepdaughters. I see you continuing to support them as they raise their families, exploding that whole evil stepmother myth. Well done!

I have you to thank for getting my business books in order. My detail-orientation gene is not as strong as yours. When you did our books I enjoyed the regular interaction it forced. I miss that.

Your devotion to Grandma in her last years left an indelible mark on my heart. I couldn’t be there but I was comforted that you were and you would defend her to the death. And you did. Thank you for carrying that burden for our family. You did us all a great service.

I can’t think of many others I would enlist to plan a special event or navigate through government bureaucracy. I’m glad you’re the younger sister. You are better equipped to organize my geriatric care than I am yours!

I admire your ability to keep house so much better than I can. I simply didn’t inherit Grandmother’s neat freak tendencies and my priorities are different. But I sure do enjoy walking into your beautiful, neat, clean and orderly home.

Your ability to rise above life’s hurdles and mud holes is inspiring. It’s not easy to crawl from the depths and fashion a brand new life but you did it. You held up your head. You did the hard work. And you emerged a wonderful woman, wife, mother, sister, daughter, and friend.

I honour the day you were born, 50 years ago today. I am thankful for the day I was given a sister. I am proud to call you my friend.

Happy Birthday, April!

Love, Shelley